


canned peaches and latent empathy

by sybilius



Category: Death Note, Death Note: Another Note
Genre: (going experimental here), (warning: will probably inevitably have some bad science :( ), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Light Yagami, Camping, Cats, Conspiracy Theories, Dubious Morality, Family Dynamics, Funerals, God Complex, Greyromantic L, Heavy Angst, Intellectual discussions, M/M, Minor Violence, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, POV Third Person Omniscient, Pathology - Freeform, SARS (loosely), Street Harassment, lots of deaths, pandemic au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:19:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deadly virus strikes at a critical time in the Kira investigation. L recruits his main suspect to deduce whether or not the virus could be man-made, and his successors to investigate where the source could be found. As modern life starts to crack apart, those who would be gods are left wondering where their power really lies. </p><p> </p><p>Canon-divergence takes place around Chapter 31 of the manga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sugar packets and poorly timed funerals

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, okay, just going to chat for a little if you'll give me a moment of rambling. So this is an AU that came to me while thinking about how L and Light would deal with an apocalyptic-type setting, and there was too much excellent character study for me to let this one go. And then Mello came in, and B was just so unexpectedly suited to this that I just couldn't let it be. So hopefully this will be an interesting misadventure.
> 
> As you can tell from the first chapter there have been deaths, and there will be more :( If you want to know who (or if a certain character dies), just feel free to message me on tumblr or send me an anon ask (I totally understand wanting to know if your faves die before you commit to a fic). 
> 
> If you're side-eyeing the tags, just throwing it out there that I won't be writing a threesome between L/Light/B. Uh. Yeah. Also Sayu and Mello: not a ship. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this, come chat with me in the comments (or at sybilius.tumblr.com) anytime!

There are eight reported cases when Souichirou Yagami coughs upwards from the lungs at the breakfast table, uncharacteristically neglecting to bring his fist to his mouth. Sachiko Yagami places a hand on his back gently as it wracks through him, his hand dropping the chopsticks while grains of rice tumble across the table. It scares him, momentarily, but the feeling is an old friend. An improvement over doubt.

“Please excuse me,” Souichirou brings a napkin to his mouth gruffly, “That came on quickly.”

"Are you alright, Dad?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine Sayu.

“You were burning up last night,” she lays a hand over the lines on his forehead and he shakes his head.

"Mm, I'll be fine. The Kira case needs my full attention."

Sachiko places a cup of coffee in front of her husband, "You sound like you might be coming down with something, dear."

“I’m feeling better this morning, just a cough is all.”

“Well, your fever has broken. It must have been a chill.”

"Don't overwork yourself, Dad," Light's voice lilts over the scene as he takes a seat next to Sayu, "It's only been a month since that heart attack."

The cases haven't hit the front page yet, but the story is tucked in a corner of the local section, which Souichirou would have read on a day not consumed by chasing leads for the Kira case. He manages a few mouthfuls of the nattō before folding the newsprint up, pulling his coat off the hooks in the hallway and over his shoulder. The familiarity of the motion steadies him. Over at the breakfast table, Light has that distant look in his eyes that bites into Souichirou. Light’s gaze is trained intently out the window. Souichirou tempers himself for the umpteenth time not to see murder in it. He turns to go.

“You should take Light’s advice,” Sachiko stops him at the door, “The Kira case won’t be solved if you work yourself to death.”

“We have the best men in the world on the job, Sachiko, I have to do what I can.”

“I know. I know you’re doing everything you can.” Another cough rumbles through, this one starting deep in the trachea, “Just. Take care of yourself. I don’t want to see you in the hospital again.”

“Of course.”

Light Yagami watches his father close the door tightly against the sunlight peering over the clouded skyline. Another day is dawning over the slow turning of the world. Kira’s new world. He spins a fork in his hand, absently wishing for a pen instead. He stands up and takes in his father's bowl with his own.

"Light, shouldn't you be eating more than that? You'll waste it!" Sayu gives him a mock-serious look through a mouthful of rice. Despite the myriad of plans whirling through his head, he turns up the corners of his mouth for her.

"I'll take mine and Dad's for lunch today."

"You eat like a bird! What happened to all the potato chips?"

"I'll eat what I need to, eating more than that is wasteful."

"Okay, Mr. Serious College Man."

Light packs up his lunch and takes the steps two at a time. He turns the lock, with a timed eight minutes to spare for penning a few names. His fingers itch at familiar wood of the base of his drawer, pressing the pen upwards to reveal the black-bound notebook within. Light thumbs the pages, allowing himself an indulgent moment of watching the names flash by before he adds four more. Each a small step in the journey towards a perfect world. The pages of the Death Note are surprisingly thin for an object of such power.

He's penned two of the names down with carefully selected times when Ryuk's voice floats over his focus.

"Careful, Light, seems like your sister wants ya."

Light sits up with a start, then slides the Death Note back into its hiding place with practiced silence. And not a moment too soon. He hears a knock at the door.

"You owe me an apple for that one, heh."

"Light? Can I come in?"

"Sure." Light flips the lock and opens the door. Sayu hadn't come to his room since his father had given her a stern talk about letting Light do her homework as a late junior. She looks less like a junior now, about to begin high school in a year. Light, for his part, still sees the girl he grew up with, and he’s more than a little annoyed at being interrupted.

“Was I interrupting something?” she asks quietly. He shakes his head. She sits down on the bed.

“I’m worried about Dad.”

“He’s strong, Sayu. He’s the chief of police. He’ll pull through.”

"I just... I want it all to stop, Light."

"People committing crimes? We all do--"

“No! I mean, well-- what I meant was I want Kira to stop.” her hands fiddle with her tights. Her fingernails are more ragged than Light remembers. “Kira has been killing for more than a year now. There’s fewer criminals, but it’s just… scary really. The heart attacks. And who he kills.”

“The criminals?”

“Anyone, really. And the television broadcasts. It's not just affecting criminals, its the entire world.”

She’s almost imploring when she looks up at him. The corner's of Light's mouth are sharp when he smiles, but he nudges her shoulder playfully.

“When did you start thinking about world news? Did the broadcasts interrupt your Hideki Ryuga movies?” Light smirks, the way he used to tease her, but she just purses her lips.

“I guess so. I don’t really watch those anymore.”

“Oh.”

“You’re working on the case, aren’t you.” She watches the surprise flash up in his eyes, then shade over.

“Of course not. I have to focus on my studies. They wouldn’t let a student work on the case—“

“Dad would. He lets you work on cases all the time, but this one is too much for him. It’s too much for anyone, a murderer can cause _heart attacks_ ? It’s just not right.” she turns her head and misses the bare flinch at the word _murderer_. Light relaxes on the bed next to her. She can tell in the way he shifts his toes against the floor, tapping, that he’s calculating how best to phrase this to her. Her brother has always seemed to her a mathematical being, fittingly difficult to understand.

“Look, the case will be solved Sayu. Everything will be fine, you’re not involved. Just focus on school. There’s no need to be scared.”

“I’m not scared of getting killed, but I’m scared that you and Dad will be!” it comes out in a rush, all her childish fears rushing over and out, “Light, aren’t you? How can you not be?”

“Of course I’m scared, Sayu.” There’s a subtle lie in it that she chooses to believe. Sayu has only heard real fear in Light’s voice once, when they were children.

He smiles at her after a moment, “But you don’t need to be, really. Not if you don’t do anything wrong.”

"Well, those FBI agents didn't, and you won't be, but that won't stop Kira, Light!" it slips out more frantically than she means it to, and she feels bad at the way her brother's eyes widen, "I'm sorry—It’s just so much Light. For Dad, and for you. I mean, you’re fighting a ghost or a monster.”

"Don't worry, Sayu. It will all be okay." Light pats her gently on the shoulder, and she lets him, “I don’t think Kira is anything we can’t handle.”

It occurs to her, just then, that her brother truly believes he can handle anything. The thought fills her with a mix of fear and admiration. She doesn't question him. "At least you'll be looking out for Dad. I'll look out for Mum."

"Sure, Sayu."

The emptiness is in his eyes even before she hears it in his voice. She nods without questioning further, and pads out quietly into her own room to collect her schoolbooks. Light has been a silent presence for more than a year and a half now, since the start of the Kira murders. He doesn't see the lines growing under their mother's eyes, hasn't taken note of the measured distance between husband and wife. Sayu doubts he's even missed her occasional presence by his door, the way she used to ask him about his life by teasing.

She shoulders her bag as he sweeps out the front door to college, without so much as a backwards ‘goodbye’. In the sunlight casting on the dust motes in the kitchen, she kisses her mother on the cheek before they both leave the house for the day’s errands.

The Yagami family home rests empty, steeped in the unease of its inhabitants.

The day passes, taking Light to the back of a huge university classroom, where he gives a quarter of his attention to the lecture on evolutionary biology. For a so-called difficult elective, it's even easier than he suspected. With three quarters of his attention on a plan to get L in Misa's sights, he answers one-third of the questions posed by the professor flawlessly. Beside him, Ryuk eyes the apples in his backpack and makes snide comments that cause him to smirk has he sketches out possible avenues of attack. The lecture concludes just as he decides the plan would be too risky, for the moment.

"As is standard, I will take questions on the material for the next ten minutes, though I may refer you to the readings if it becomes clear you have not completed them."

"Excuse me, professor," a familiar drawl simultaneously relaxes Light and causes the hair on his arms to stand up, "I was wondering what you think of the application of Darwin's theory of natural selection to human social structure?”

He had not attended a single class all term, to Light's knowledge. But then again, Light hadn't seen him come enter the room either. Light's skin crawls as he cranes his neck to catch sight of the person he’d spent much of the lecture considering how best to eliminate. L, Ryuzaki, _Hideki_ _Ryuga_ is perched at the edge of the room, several papers spread around him, and inky hair more wild than normal.

“You might have to explain, Ryuga,” the professor adjusts his tie after a slightly uncomfortable pause.

“Our society tends towards more altruistic, does it not? More so than other species. We create situations such that those with genetic disadvantages still survive. We even alter our environments or ourselves to enhance our survival. I was curious as to present day pressures from natural selection in our society?”

“Ah, now that is an interesting question,” the professor takes a quick glance at his watch, “Before I answer, I will say that this is slightly out of the field of the genetic evolutionary biology, but we may touch on human evolutionary biology by the end of the course, if time permits. For now, I would like to see what the thoughts of students are on the matter.”

In between some uncomfortable shuffling, a few students begin to raise their hands slowly. The professor nods, granting unusual permission for open debate.

“I guess we evolve in the way…cities are structured? Urbanization and ability to adapt?”

“Yeah, and our technology!” Light cringes internally at the stupidity of some of his classmates.

“I’m not sure that can be described as evolution, more so technological advancement, if you’ll excuse me,” Kiyomi Takada’s light, clear voice cuts through the hubbub, “Whether or not it affect us genetically, or in the same patterns as evolution I’m not sure. It might be better to have a world that’s less dominated by chance and evolution. It protects us.”

“I would say that we haven’t eliminated evolution, but rather taken it into our own hands,” Light’s voice resonates through the lecture hall, "We decide, as a society, how people should succeed and what advantages they have. We collectively decide what the best human being looks like, what contributing to society in a productive way looks like. And those who don’t adhere to that don’t succeed.”

“A suggestion, perhaps,” L’s soft voice cuts through the silent thought in the wake of Light's statement, "It hadn't occurred to me when I asked, but it may be then, that our thought patterns become more important than our genetic makeup. The survival of the fittest becomes that of ideas which pervade our society. Then we would favour ideas which help us advance socially. Then it becomes not a race to replicate our genetics, but rather, to disseminate our thoughts."

A murmur runs through the room, uncomfortable shuffling of papers as Light sits back in his chair with indifference.

“All excellent points. I would highlight out Ryuga’s thought, romantic as it may be, as being of particular interest. The idea of thoughts and ideas being the primary, and more fluid medium of natural selection for human being is a reasonable analogy to draw, though more in the field of cognitive studies or psychology than broad ecological evolution,” the professor pushes up his glasses and regards them severely, "For closing remarks, I will remind you that evolution is best thought of as probabilistic. This probability favors improvement. But probability has very little to say about neutral change, for change’s own sake. In time, those can be revealed to be the most important adaptations. I'll urge you not to forget your rudimentary knowledge on genetic drift. And on that note, good luck on the midterm next week. You are dismissed.”

The classroom takes on an energetic buzz, as people file out while stealing glances towards Light and L. Light, for his part, ignores their usual notoriety and crosses the classroom to where L is perched in his usual squat. His spidery fingers are penning a diagram of ragged lines and neat geometric shapes. His wide eyes draw up to meet Light's.

"That was an unusual topic, Ryuga. What made you ask that question?" 

"Why, the lecture on kin selection, Light-kun. Weren't you listening?" 

Light's quicksilver smile is false, "Oh, of course. You don't come here often enough anymore. The topics aren't nearly as interesting." L sees the lie, but still appreciates the craftmanship.

"I do have some considerable preoccupations with the case."

"Would you like to talk over coffee?"

L meets Light's eyes, a smile playing on his lips, "Yes, I think I would."

The campus is still bright with summer, the fresh scent of greenery carrying on the breeze. L keeps his eyes trained to the concrete-stone walkway, his mind ticking over possibilities, "To tell you the truth, Light-kun, I had my reservations about coming here today, especially with the advent of the second Kira. But if you truly aren't Kira, there is nothing to fear."

"But if I were the first Kira, making contact with the second Kira, wouldn't it be simple for them to eliminate you on my behalf? Since the second Kira kills with only a face."

"Mm, perhaps. But I believe the second Kira must be kept on a tight leash. Whoever they are, they are certainly not as careful nor as clever as the first. It wouldn't be in your interest to keep such a liability so close unless you were absolutely sure you had more to gain." L keeps his eyes on Light's hands, watching carefully for any movements, any signs of contacting another person. Light stays impassive as they keep stride.

"Eliminating L certainly would be in Kira's interests. If I'm trying to think like him."

"You couldn't have predicted I would be coming here today, since I did not yet know myself.”The cafe is has more chatter than L remembers from previously, but most of the students take no notice of them .“Shall we take the booth in the back again?"

"You really do like playing this game, don't you Ryuga," Light turns his head to laugh, such that the sharpness of his cheekbones catch the glow of the fluorescent lighting. Everything about Light Yagami is sharp, L believes, and this is exactly why he is the most likely individual to be Kira.

"Mm, well I enjoy most games that I can win," he watches measured, for the tiniest narrowing of Light's eyes at his words, then begins stacking the sugar packets in patterns on the table, "I do believe I am better at playing L than you are at playing Kira. But then again. Maybe not."

"I should hope so. Though you do make an impressive L." Light says it with a strange truth that resonates through L. He lets a smile play on his lips as he watches Light's hands thumb through the menu. As usual, Light orders coffee, black;  L, a strawberry cheesecake. L watches Light slide his hands carefully under the table.

"Put your hands up here," L demands, and Light looks taken aback, but complies. L stacks the sugar packets into his outstretched hands, fingertips brushing the casually frantic pulse at Light's wrist. In the right hand he places a single sugar packet. In front he stacks a trio, then a quintet, then a septet of the small packets in three piles, “Do you know this game?”

“I’m not sure I do.” Light’s bemused expression only betrays the slightest hint of annoyance, but L takes note.

“The objective is to become the last individual to move. You may remove any number of objects from any pile. But you must pick only one pile to remove objects from. The question is, Yagami-kun, do you choose to go first or second in this case?”

Light’s eyes count the contents of the piles, and he leans back in the way he did while L questioned him here the first time. As if considering, but the knowledge is already present in the way he relaxes his fingertips easily against the wood of the table, “Second.”

“Very clever.” L rearranges the stacks such that there are two in Light’s hand, four in one pile, seven in another. Light makes a staged attempt at thought again before he speaks.

“First.”

L graces him with a smile “Now try this game—similar stacks to the first game, but I’ll add another stack of seven. This time, you have to take packets from the largest pile, always. You can take as many as you like, though.”

Light’s eyes widen slightly as he considers the new challenge. He opens his mouth, then closes it. L notices his lips are rather thin. From this angle he looks uncharacteristically hawkish. Light laughs his contrived laugh, “This is a harder question.”

“Mm, this is rather different than being able to simply work it out from the nim-sums.” L stares at him impassively, “Knowing the trick is nothing. Being able to reason it out is everything. Still, I think you can do it, Light-kun.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Ryuzaki.” there’s the subtlest hint of annoyance in his voice, and his attentions are now completely focused on the small heaps.

“Ryuga, you must have me confused with someone else.” L mentally adds a half a percentage, more so out of spite than anything else.

“Right.”

The phone in the pocket of L’s jeans rings, causing them both to start, slightly. Light shrugs, still staring intently at the sugar packets. L picks up with the tips of his fingers, licking his lips with a premonition of dread.

“Yes?”

“It is as you expected.” Watari’s careful, somber voice crackles softly. L nods slowly, avoiding looking at Light for the moment.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Very sorry. Has contact been made?”

“Yes, funeral arrangements are being sorted as we speak. We may not have a lot of time for such decorum.”

“We’ll make time.”

“Would you like me to contact his son?”

“No, I will tell him.” L snaps the phone shut with a kind of businesslike manner. He opens his mouth to let the news tumble out into a mess, but he is interrupted by the arrival of their food. The waiter slides the cheesecake in front of him, and it suddenly seems less appetizing than it did on the menu. Despite knowing what was to come.

Light takes a sip of the coffee, “I think I should go first in the new game.”

“Mhm, yes. That’s much better, Yagami-kun, although in fairness, that was an easier question than some of the others I asked you.”

"What's the point of all this, Ryuga?"

"I use it when I think about counting my costs," L's voice is soft as he places the sugar packets neatly back into the box, waiting just a moment longer than he should. Sparing someone news isn't in his nature. Not for the first time, but for the first time without venom, L wonders what possibilities are wandering through Light’s mind, what measured reaction he will produce. Light slides a hand casually under the table, and it is then L decides to speak, "Your father is dead."

Light goes still, his fingers tight against the mug of coffee.

“Not Kira?” he asks it almost faintly.

“He collapsed at work with difficulty breathing. He was rushed to the hospital and they tried to stabilize him, but he experienced a complete respiratory failure. I’m sorry.” the words are off-color, drained of color under L’s monotone. They settle over Light, and he takes a sip of coffee from the white mug to steady himself. He opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , and then they both flinch again as his cell phone rings.

“It’s Sayu.” Light flips it open. There’s an incoherent blur of breathing on the other line, static mixed with tears.

“L-light?”

“Sayu, are you all right? Where are you right now?”

“I’m at home—I just got a call from Mum, she’s at the hospital. And Dad he, he—“ her voice cuts off for a moment and Light catches L staring at him with something akin to empathy. It’s strangely calming, before the context settles in, and revulsion washes over him.

“I heard, Sayu.”

“I-I have to stay at home until Mum comes. She says not to come see him yet. She doesn’t want me to. Please come home, Light.” she almost whispers the last request. It cracks the veneer in his mind, his hands shaking.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can. Will Mum be—“

“I think so. Love you, Light.”

“Love you too, Sayu. See you soon.”

Light snaps his phone shut, feeling drained even while his nerves singing with alert. What this means for the case, he can’t calculate at this point. There are too many open questions— the disease, his mother, the notebook, L knowing about it all. L. He turns his head upwards to see L staring intently, nibbling cheesecake off of a fork.

“I can call for the car to take you home, if you like.”

“Yes. I think I need to get home as quickly as possible.”

“That can be arranged.” L slides off his perch on the booth, leaving more cash than the cost of two cakes and coffee on the tabletop next to his half-eaten cheesecake, “Let’s go.”

Light keeps his eyes out the window of the Rolls-Royce on the silent drive home. He’s oddly grateful for L’s silence, for the presence of this smooth, powerful vehicle in the midst of the maelstrom of thoughts. The city flashes by behind tinted windows, the sun dimming at the horizon. The lights at the top of the skyscrapers, the business floors, are one by one going dark for the closing of the day. Traffic is awful. He’s simultaneously furious and glad of the wait.

“Did the doctors say what it was? How did you know?”

“Emergency signal regarding members of the Taskforce.” L says it casually, and Light notes the information as potentially being useful, “The others don’t know yet. But I’m hoping it’s not connected to the cases in Hong Kong. Have you heard of them?”

“No.”

“Best hope it’s not that, then, or we’ll have bigger problems than the Kira case on our hands.”

Light turns to stare at L for a moment, at his tense white fingers, and his gaze towards the city, “Should you even be here right now, then? I see my father every day. I’m more likely to be exposed to the contagion.”

L falls silent for a moment, “I see your father almost every day as well.”

Light taps his fingers on the side of his leg, trying to push the thoughts of his father to a time and place that he can parse them easily, “So you came to tell me personally.”

“I wanted to see how you’d react to the news, given that I’m almost ninety-percent sure it’s not Kira.”

“Because I’m your main suspect?” Light doesn’t have to fake the outrage, this time.

“I’m not sure,” L turns his head slowly, and it’s then that Light notices he’s sitting normally, for once, that his spine lacks the characteristic hunch, that he’s gazing with a softer, more intent focus, “I think it might be because you’re my friend.”

“You really haven’t had friends before, have you, Ryuzaki?” Light is surprised at how L almost flinches at his name. Almost his name.

“No. I apologize, Light-kun. This must be an awful time for you, especially with where we’re at in the Kira case. I’ll apologize for the intrusion, but I’ve already instructed Watari to assist with funeral arrangements, if you have need of it. It will be more efficient that way.” At L’s words, suddenly bile rises up and closes Light’s throat. Tears rush to his eyes, an awful, visceral thing, but his mind is still hanging, still stuck running over the same plans to murder the man who reaches out a white hand and grips his shoulder tightly. Light squeezes his eyes shut. The grip is painful, it’s strange, but it helps. It stays for what may be hours, days, the remaining four minutes to arrive at his home. He nods once, and meets L’s grey eyes before he opens the door to go, not trusting himself to speak.

His heartbeat has tapered back to normal by the time the sound of L’s car has faded into the evening. He opens the front door to the home he’s lived in his entire life. His father’s heavy, tan jacket is absent from the coat-hook, as it often would be on an evening such as this. Light hangs his own jacket on his father’s hook. When he slams the door, he hears the door open upstairs, and sock feet pad down to the main floor. Sayu’s face is swollen and puffy, her mouth set in a rigid line.

He knows what’s expected of him. He folds his arms around her and lets her cry, softly into the neat white of his shirt collar. This is his sister, his father is dead, and he allows himself a single, choked sob as compensation.

But time is currency, and he owes all of it to his mission. As Sayu dissolves into hiccoughs, he puts his hands on her shoulders, "It'll be all right.."

"You're right. He wouldn't have wanted us to, to-- He would have wanted to catch Kira--" she gasps, stares Light down with flinty, watery eyes, "You have to catch Kira, Light. You have to do it for Dad."

The intensity in her eyes almost scares him, "Sayu, you know this has nothing to do with--"

"You have to bring Kira to justice. For him."

“I promise,” the lie slides out with more ease than he expected, looking into her shining, ignorant, brown eyes. Sayu has always known very little about the world, and this is no exception. He holds her just as long as he has to before pulling away.

“Are you going to be all right? I can come stay in your room.”

“I’m not a kid anymore, Light,” she gives him a watery smile, “I’ll be fine. Go have your important secrets, as long as it catches Kira.”

“I’ll need to look into the funeral.”

“Oh.” She squeezes his shoulder and he feels a sharp pang, a sudden desire to cough up his secrets till they stop choking his throat. He closes his eyes a moment. It passes.

“Well, guess you didn’t see this one coming.” Ryuk drawls as Light turns the lock on the door.

“I need information, as soon as possible.” Light switches on the news, and sure enough, reports are starting to crop up about the virus on every major news station. Hong Kong is already on high alert, but the number of cases appear to be climbing. The number of Japanese cases was under ten a day before, and now there are over thirty reported.

“I’ll have to get this done quickly,” Light states, horror starting to climb up his throat. At this point, he’s almost certainly been exposed to the contagion. Is it only a matter of time? He checks his forehead, recalling that it started with a fever. A quick internet search reveals that the exact nature of the spread of the virus isn’t well-known. Light brings up a midday report from Hong Kong with translation:

“The behaviour of the virus is unprecedented,” the reporter from Hong Kong speaks with a kind of nervous skip, “Entire clusters of people have been affected, but a statistically significant number of these clusters appear to survive. The virus is referred to as Selectively Contagious Acute Respiratory Syndrome. Because of the selective contagion, it’s unknown whether a full quarantine will be effective as preventative measures. The World Health Organization meets tomorrow to discuss the effects of this virus worldwide.”

“This couldn’t be a Shinigami, could it, Ryuk?”

“Not a chance,” Ryuk reclines on the bed, “Too boring, besides, I don’t think you can invent new sicknesses using the Death Note.”

“I guess it’s just a matter of waiting then.”

He had to believe he’d come out of it unscathed—experience would dictate that there were gods on his side, would it not? Light Yagami, Kira, would emerge to lead the new world to a brighter place. He exhales. Would it really be so bad if there were fewer people to manage in the new world?

One fewer being Chief of Police Souichirou Yagami. The thought rushes through Light, from his spine up to his fingertips, causing him to catch his breath. Slow down. Now is not the time to fall apart. He had hoped that someday his father would come to appreciate Kira’s work, would come to a safe and quiet retirement, never knowing all his son had done to create the utopia they lived in. He would know Kira as god. But Light Yagami would always be his son.

“Hey, Light, at least you don’t have to worry about Dad arresting you anymore.”

Light almost chokes out the laugh that shivers through him when he kills. His face is wet, “Shut up, Ryuk. Just shut up.”

In the meantime, there is work to be done. He pulls out the files he was saving for a sunny day when there were fewer crimes or his movements were restricted. He begins writing furiously, time of death, two weeks worth of meticulously scheduled names. It’s taxing work. Light almost doesn’t notice the way his heartbeat picks up frenetically, his cheeks heating. He doesn’t have much time—his father could be home at any—

His fingers slip over a name for the first time since he killed Takuo Shibuimaru.

He lays his head next to the book, getting his breathing under control. The goals of Souichirou Yagami and Kira are one in the same to make the world a free utopia for good people—really, how could he not come to terms with this solution, after he saw how successful it was. Kira’s law has been the most effective at shaking up world crime than anyone could possibly imagine. And it’s only the beginning. His mind calmed by thoughts of his cause at last, he places the Death Note back into its hiding place and returns back to Sayu, his mother, to the world of the living.

It’s not until hours later, when he slips under the covers, that he even notices he’s shaking, shaking against the grey linen. It’s not until two in the morning that his body stills.

The funeral comes stunningly quickly to the Yagami house. Only a day passes in a whirlwind of calls and papers, Sachiko’s quiet tears against Light’s silent resolve, while Sayu watches it all happen. Sachiko meets with a lawyer who speaks to the family members about a will. The pages are neat, signed with both parents names. Of course, it’s been written for years, but Sayu had never given it a thought. Not even with the Kira case looming in the background.

Colleagues from the police force come by to offer support, and Light spends an inordinate amount of time on the phone in a hushed voice with someone he calls ‘Ryuzaki’. Sometimes he raises his voice. In the timbre of it, Sayu hears shades of her father, and lets a fresh cascade of tears wash her clean.

The evening of the wake, she takes her seat near the front of the shrine, smoothing out the black linen of her dress. Light is impassive next to her—she hasn’t seen his face shift since the night he came home. One by one, guests leave silver envelopes in a basket next to the shrine, family members, police officers, a tall, white man wearing a black hat that she doesn’t recognize. Light’s girlfriend is absent, something Sayu tucks back into the list of reasons to disapprove of her—but then again, that seems less important. Many of the guests are wearing breathing masks. Some are even wearing clinical cotton gloves.

A monk steps up to the front to begin the dokkyo. Somewhere amid the chanting she catches she recognizes her father’s favourite passage-- a short, simple piece on the importance of compassion.

Light tenses beside her as the passage ends, his face twisting only for a moment.  On her other side, her mother chokes back a sob, causing guests to shuffle uncomfortably. Sayu grips her mother’s arm tightly. It feels warmer than usual, though her mother shakes as if chilled to the bone.

She paints her face over in the rigid mask her brother wears as they step to the front and drag the incense over the image of Soiuchirou Yagami, Police Chief, Upstanding Citizen, Loving Father. Tears are streaming down her face, she notices, just now.

She puts on a brave smile for her father’s grave, swallows the stones in her throat that make it hard to breathe normally. It will pass. It will.

As she watches the masked, the tear-struck, and the seriously smiling people offer their incense, she tries to believe it.

After the wake they gather at the table, certain members of the police force staying close to Light. They’re speaking in hushed tones, and the other guests implicitly move away from them, save the tall man who looks like he may be British. He’s wearing a mask over his face and gloves on his hands. She leans in towards them, trying to catch snippets of their conversation.

“—my father would have wanted the case to continue where possible—“

“Ryuzaki wants to see you as soon as you are available—“

“Tell him I will be there when I can.”

“Of course.”

“Sayu, did you want something?” her brother gives her a sharp glance when he notices her attentions.

“Can you please pass the beans?”

“Of course.”

Tension is thick in the room as she tries to swallow the meal. Beside her, Sachiko coughs violently, once. The table goes silent for a moment, some whipping their fearful eyes in the direction of her mother. She glances at Light, terrified for a moment, but he remains inscrutable. She rubs her mother’s hand soothingly. It’s time to have a conversation she never thought she would be the one to start.

“Mum. You’ve been burning up since this morning.” Sayu hears herself speaking, a kind of practical dissociation weighing on her tongue, “I think you might need to go to the hospital.”

The look on her mother’s face is one she’ll never forget—it starts as kind smile, _there’s nothing wrong_ , and then morphs into a grief and desperation that’s in the eyebrows, the cheekbones, in every grotesque line of her face. Her mother is a stranger, and this stranger lets out a low, despairing noise, part scream, sob, whimper, clutching her hands and bowing her head to her chest.

Chaos erupts, guests immediately standing, some offering to call an ambulance, others offering rapid apologies and rushing their children out towards the door. The monk who has arrived to check on the funeral party looks at a loss before turning back for the door. Light stands, dials the phone, keeps his eyes trained on Sayu.

“I’ll need an ambulance immediately.” he gives short, quick instructions to the paramedic on the other line. He turns to his sister, who is wild-eyed and panicked, “Sayu. Have you had a fever in the last few days?”

“What?”

“Have you?”

“No! Have you?”

“No!”  he’s practically yelling in her face,

“Look—Sayu. We might have to go in for quarantine, we might not, but for now I want you to take a cab back to the house right now—“

“Light, I can’t just leave Mom—“

“You have to, you don’t understand—“

“ _I know I might be contagious, Light_.” the seriousness in his sister’s tone shocks him into reality. He stares her in the eyes, completely cool. Willing her to see the sense in his words.

“Then you know it won’t help to go to the hospital. You’ll just make more people sick. Take a set of gloves, take a mask. Let mum go. They’ll take care of her there.” She flinches, and he sees the tears sparking in her eyes as she turns away.

“But what if she, if she—“

“I know. Just. Stay at home, wait for me there. I’ll know what to do.” He’s already walking away from her, from his mother, from all of it.

“Light, where are you going?” she demands as he follows Aizawa to the black car that awaits them.

“If a state of emergency were to occur, all Taskforce members should rendezvous immediately to decide how to proceed.” He repeats the words that Watari gave to them as if they were a mantra. She looks momentarily like she wants to scream again, then steps back, “I’ll see you at home, Sayu.”

She nods, looking like she doesn’t trust herself to speak. Light gives her one backwards glance before he slams the door of the car and tries to gather what’s left of the mask he uses to face L. It fits more naturally than he’d hoped, as he slides into strategies and lets the chaos of the funeral fall into nothingness. It’s not important. Not right now.

When they take the elevator up to the hotel there are already signs of disarray in the building, people moving frantically back and forth, holding handkerchiefs over their faces. Light walks with confidence, knowing, _sure_ he is safe from the virus by now. He glances at the god by his side and feels invincible. It feels strangely like falling off a cliff.

They arrive at room 635. Waiting at the door is a stack of masks and gloves. Each member dons their mask in silence.

L is seated, apparently unconcerned, in the center of the room. He looks slightly ghoulish with a mask pulled over his face, emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes to an even more exaggerated extent. He’s eating cupcakes, pristine with pink icing, lifting up his mask just slightly, comedically to lick at the surface. It’s disgusting to Light, reminds him of why L is completely, utterly beneath Kira and everything he stands for.

“No, no, stay back,” L cautions through a mouthful of cake as they all advance towards him, “This is for your safety more than mine.”

Matsuda looks back and forth with a kind of panic, but Ide gives him a bracing glance.

“Thank you for all coming at such short notice. My personal apologies to Yagami-kun, this is a completely unforgivable interruption, but the Tokyo area has just been declared a state of emergency. Fifty new cases of the SCARS virus have been reported in the past day. All members of the city are urged to stay indoors, or submit themselves for quarantine if they have had contact with someone who contracted the virus.”

“What does this mean for the case, Ryuzaki?” Aizawi growls, “That’s why we’re all here?”

“Do we know if Kira’s even killing at this point?” Ide looks up at L grimly from across the room, “The virus could have gotten to him, too.”

“There were two heart attacks in the morning and the evening. It would be my preference that the investigation proceed, though we may need to resort to extreme measures to stay safe.”

Light thinks he looks preposterous, lips coated in the pink sugar, eyes wide with the glow of the three television screens. L licks the icing off the tip of his thumbnail, and Light shudders from the fingertips upwards. L's death flickers over his mind, and it calms him. He thinks it would be convenient if the virus got him first, but even the triumphant edge of that thought is tainted by fear.

Aizawa thinks about his daughter just as the first cough worms its way out of his throat. Matsuda flinches backwards from him, despite there being already more than two meters between them.

L barely moves, stirring an additional cube of sugar into his tea, “All members of the taskforce should be subjected to quarantine immediately. I will keep in contact with you via Watari and through a number of private channels, but will continue to work on the case.”

“Ryuzaki—“ Matsuda’s voice is higher than its usual timbre, “Aren’t you worried the virus might get you too?”

“Realistically, if I am susceptible to the contagion, Matsuda-san, it already has ‘got me’.” L is sardonic as he takes a sip of the tea. Anger is starting to rise up in Light, a desire to knock the teacup out of L’s hands, to scream in his face.

“But still, isn’t it best to go to quarantine anyways? Just to see what the doctors say?”

“No, Matsuda-san, I don’t believe that would be productive for me. I’ll be subjected to a different kind of quarantine in any case.”

“What, so the rules don’t apply to you?” Aizawa glares even as he is assaulted by another wracking cough.

“Aizawa-san, I must ask you to leave for the hospital immediately. Watari will have already called you an ambulance” L doesn’t even turn from his laptop, appears to type a small missive via email. His detachment is oddly calming to Light.

Aizawa stiffens, fear lighting in his eyes, then he hunches over, his breath catching in his throat, “I’m sorry, Ryuzaki. You’re right.”

“No, I am, Aizawa-san. I hope we can continue to work together.”

Aizawa doesn’t say anything then, but prayers are starting to whisper over his mind. The other members of the taskforce leave in silence, one by one. Light seems to implicitly know to hesitate, but turns to follow Watari out the door before L speaks.

“Not you, Yagami-kun.”

Light does give in slightly, feels he is own some moment of release, moment of violence. “What do you want, Ryuzaki?” He almost regrets it when L flinches, barely perceptible amidst the black shadows of his eyes. The virus is taking a toll on both of them, Kira and L alike.

“I have a proposal for you,” L turns from the glow of his laptop screen to face Light, “There is an extremely high probability you are immune to this virus. You’ve shown no symptoms thus far, despite being in regular contact with your father. It may be early to say, but the incubation period of the Hong Kong cases have been substantially more rapid. Neither of us appear to show any signs of the contagion.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Life in Japan will become completely irregular for the next short while, or longer, while the virus is brought under control. I want you to continue working on the case with me,” L holds up a finger as Light goes to speak, “In part because it would be foolish to let a suspect slip out from under me in this chaos. If Kira is a man, the virus may kill him. Or perhaps not, and that’s what I’m banking on.” Here, L gives him the most dangerous of smiles, before his face falls back into scars of worry, “I want us to work together, both on this case, and to see if there’s more than meets the eye to this new virus..”

“If I am Kira, why would you let me get close to you like that?”

“Perhaps it’s because I think this sickness might be bigger than Kira,” L looks at him for a long moment, “Are you afraid, Light-kun? The virus took your father’s life. It may well take yours.”

“If what you’re saying is true, we have nothing to fear.”

“But everyone who makes contact with us has everything to fear.”

L’s words strike a bitter chord inside Light, it hits him that he could have been the source, unwittingly leading death into his home. No use feeling guilty about such chance. But still. He thinks of Sayu, about whether or not her time is short, “You’re saying we can help manage the epidemic? How?”

“This may be more than a normal epidemic. I suspect there could be a source-- that it might be man-made. ”

“I didn’t know you knew anything about epidemics.”

L stands straighter than Light has even seen him, snapping his laptop shut, “I know a great many things. Simple criminal cases aren’t the only thing L has had to solve. Myself and my collaborators have also worked on prevention for biological warfare. This, Light-kun, has the potential to become a pandemic.”

Light shakes his head in the charmingly boyish way he’s used to, “I’ll never cease to be impressed, Ryuzaki.” Though he is, impressed this time. And it would be in Kira’s interest to preserve as many lives of the innocent as possible as the virus runs its course.  

“Where will we go?”

“You once offered imprisonment in order to prove your innocence. This will be similar. It will be much like quarantine, though we’ll have access to the outside world, and to some of my collaborators. There will be no way for you to ascertain their identities, or whether or not they are one or many. But there will be resources available to us.”

Light gives him tension with a hint of his unbreakable resolve, despite the fact that he’s already made his decision. There’s one more thing to be done, Ryuk’s laugh behind him not letting him forget it. He thinks over how best to justify returning to the Death Note, stealing a moment alone. The world maybe be temporarily crumbling, but it will return, without the taskforce, without Soichirou Yagami or anyone who opposed Kira. All he has to do is bide his time. Stay safe with his enemy whom he calls friend. His sister’s wide eyes flicker back to him, and he suddenly, desperately wants them to stay wide, stay living. “All right, Ryuzaki. I think I can be best of service if I come with you. But I’ll need to return home to pack—and you have to promise me Sayu will be taken somewhere safe. Even if it’s with us, I don’t care.”

“Of course, that can easily be arranged. Where is she?”

“I told her to go home right away and wait for me.”

“Then we should get there as quickly as possible, Light-kun. I don’t know how much longer we should stay in Tokyo.”

“Of course.”

The car ride passes in a flash. L sits in the front, and Light in the back, Ryuk laughing as he folds his skeletal body in next to him. Light ignores him, wishing for the first time he could make use of that knowledge to kill a Shinigami. Light would kill anyone for a moment of silence right now.

“Your sister won’t be with us.” L’s voice floats in, slowly from the front, “I can’t allow her to know of my identity, even as Hideki Ryuga. It’s too risky. But I can promise she will be safe, and will have everything she needs. She’ll be able to contact you.”

“Fine.” Light isn’t thinking about Sayu, he’s calculating and recalculating risks for the source of his power. When the car stops, he takes the steps upstairs two at a time, calling to the adjacent bedroom.

“Sayu, pack a bag. We’re going somewhere safe.” He slams his door behind him, flicks the lock, cracks open the drawer with less care than usual. The Death Note lies in quiet. He runs a finger over its cover, but the shiver he usual feels is dull by comparison.

“What are you going to do, Light?” Ryuk’s voice sounds mocking no matter what he says, but there’s almost a gentleness to the question.

“Ryuk. You know I’ll be with Ryuzaki soon. I may be with him twenty-four hours, so I won’t be able to feed you apples.”

“Light! You know what happened last time.”

“Exactly. But you can eat apples here, if they belong to me, correct?”

“Well, yeah—“

“Listen. I need you to watch the Death Note here. It remains mine for at least 490 days, yes?”

“S’far as the rules go, though I’m not sure I’d consider it ‘lost’ or ‘stolen’.”

Light’s eyes go stormy at the thought of anyone putting a hand on his Note, but he carefully runs over the reasons why this is necessary. It’s a smart move, in the long game, “Keep an eye on it. You can eat all the apples here—there should be about two month’s worth,” Light remembered. He had been stocking them yesterday, in case of such an emergency, “And you can find me, no matter where I am? Even if the Death Note isn’t on me?”

“Yeah—it’s part of the whole ‘bond’ deal. Chained together in life and death.” Ryuk eyes Light’s forehead hungrily.

“I’ll need you to report back to me every two days. You don’t have to do much. Just tell me that the house, and the Note is safe.”

“I gotta tell you, Light-o. If it’s not, I won’t be able to tell you, hyuk.”

“I know.” Light says grimly as he stuffs clothes into a bag.

“Mhm. I think it might be _interesting_ to watch how you get out of this one. Alright, I’ll stick around. But don’t think of this as helping you.”

“Of course not. It’s a trade, just like it always is between us.” Light shoulders his bag, packed with a few necessities, and unlatches his door.

“Sayu?” He calls, then realizes he should have heard something by now. Crying. Breathing. Anything. The possibility that his sister may be dead, his mother may be dead, his father _is dead_ rushes over him and he slams open the door to her room.

Empty.

There’s a note on the bed, penned in her neat handwriting, one of the few things she excelled at in school. He picks it up with shaking hands.

_Light,_

_I know you said you’d protect me, but I couldn’t leave Mum. I’m sorry. I’ll be under quarantine so I can see her. Please understand. I can’t let her do this alone._

_Love you._

_Sayu_

Light takes a shuddering breath, crumples the note, and walks out the door.

A god alone, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge, huge thank you to Zenthisoror for beta'ing the hell out of this chapter and really figuring things out with me. Also thanks to everyone of my wonderful Death Note friends who put up with me yelling about this :)
> 
> The game L and Light play in this chapter is called "Nim", and it's popular as a first simple application of Game Theory. Light would know how to play by pairing up the binary numbers in the nim heaps. 
> 
> I'm going to try my best to stick to the original SARS timeline, though there will be some variations on the actual events, obviously. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, would love to hear how you felt about this chapter! <3


	2. airplane tickets and reasons to leave the self behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Street harassment, medical descriptions of a virus mainly-like SARS. 
> 
> This is a Mello and Sayu centric chapter, L and Light will return (so much that you'll be sick of them, HAH), in the next chapter :) i'll also be sticking to the timeline established in 'read you like the myth-lines on my palm' if you're interested in my slightly rearranged attempt to cobble together different incarnations of the greater Death Note meta (not sure if the characterizations in that story fully apply here, so I may copy/paste the timeline when I reread that story if it doesn't fit)
> 
> Also; apologies that this technobabble is probably somewhat garbage, but hey. Call me out on it if it's fixable :)
> 
> Sayu and Matsuda: also not a ship, she's like fifteen, even if it is a mature fifteen.

The grandfather clock in the hallway of the chimes once, twice. It resonates in the wood of the halls till the night falls to silence again, save for the _scratch-scritch_ of pen against note paper, the occasional click of a mouse. A ten-year old boy turns over with a grumble in the bunk bed next to the desk, but he’s long since learned not to bother Mello while he works.

Mello brushes the hair out of his burning eyes, trying to focus on the images in the textbook.  _Rhinovirus, adenovirus, etiologic agent?_ Mello takes note to remember that last term, it sounds oddly impressive to his ears. He stifles a yawn, and steals a glance over at his bed. Among the long list of seemingly ridiculous mythologies about _the_ L is that he never sleeps. Or rather, that he sleeps in the same state he completes most of his cases in.

Mello recalls the gaunt crow of a man he’s met a handful of times, thinking about the dark shadows under his eyes. The computer flickers to the screen-saver, and for a moment he catches his reflection in the black of the screen. His eyes are approaching the same level of shadowed. It pleases him.

“Hey there,” Even though the greeting is soft, Mello flinches back, nerves on edge. A skinny red-head is silhouetted in the door. When he steps into the glow of Mello’s desk-lamp, Mello can see the concern written on his face, “It’s pretty late, isn’t it.”

“Is it?” Mello twitches his eyes to look at the clock on the computer screen.

“Two am. Are you gonna sleep?”

“I can’t stop now, Matt. I’ll be talking to him in five hours. I’ve got a lot to figure out between now and then. Have to have…something to say to him. About the case. Well, both of them. Have you found anything, listening to the feeds?”

“Mhm. Well, whatever he was on about with Roger was bloody next-level encryption. I couldn’t even figure who it was off to, hadta do it the old-fashioned way by listening at doors.

“Damnit. We should have bugged his office again.”

“Did you want to spend another day in the cellar?”

“Well, yeah, we can climb out the back window and go to town for ice cream now that you rigged the boards.” Mello grins a moment before his face falls back into lines of worry. He turns back to the textbook pages, wishing he had sat in on the pathology seminar as opposed to the session on organized crime. And of _course_ Near has known everything about this kind of weapon, having had the advantage of being personally involved in such a case. Everywhere he turned, the odds were against him.

“Hey Mell?” he had forgotten Matt was there for a moment. Matt lays a hand on his shoulder, “Christ, you’re tense.”

“Yeah?” it’s barely a question. Matt sighs and begins working his hands over Mello’s shoulders without a word. Mello hardly notices, he needs to take in information about respiratory structures, RNA replication patterns, attack vectors, but none of it is coming through fast enough.

“This is just a hunch, so don’t take it as fact—“

“What is it?”

“Jeez, Mell, don’t get too excited. This ain’t the good kind of news. I think the old man might be dead.”

Mello goes pale, giving Matt his full attention for the first time since he got in, “Watari is dead?”

“Sounds like the virus got to him, yeah.”

“Jesus.” Mello didn’t know him very well, but once a month they’d receive a list of the seminars to be offered in the following month, with a small missive from Watari about whether or not L would be available to answer questions. When L would speak personally to Mello or Near, the message would come from W. Watari organized the details, Watari spoke to the police, and many people believed Watari took care of L. Mello wasn’t so sure, but in many ways, the old man reminded Mello of his own father, what little he remembers of him. Distant. Thoughtful. Razor-intelligent. His gut clenches, “Rest in peace, I guess. You think L is okay? I mean with his death, not the virus.”

“Fuck if I know, Mell, he doesn’t talk to me. I hope it isn’t true, that I’m wrong. I liked the old man.” Matt fingers his gameboy, and Mello recalls that it had been a Christmas present from the Wammy’s foundation.

“You and me both.” Mello rakes a hand through his hair, “Still. If it is, L’s on his own out there.”

“He’s L. He’ll be fine, right?”

“Guess so.” Mello fingers his mother’s Byzantine cross for a moment, thinking up a few words of prayer. Or something like it. Through the window he can see the moon getting low over the acre of forest to the west of the orphanage. The old man used to stand at watch in the drawing-room window, and could always hear him walking by in the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes he’d motion Mello over and point out constellations. Mello whispers a prayer that wherever Quillsh Wammy is now, he can see the stars.

He can feel Matt’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t mind. Matt is the one person he doesn’t feel strange praying in front of. He gives Matt a grim half-smile before turning back to his work.

Matt squeezes his shoulder, once, “I’m going out for a smoke. You should turn in soon, Mell. Have to keep your wits about you, yeah?”

“And you should smoke less.” Mello quips, and resolves to sleep for four hours, no less.

He ends up sleeping for three and a half, trying to shove back dreams that pray in RNA sequences to the memory of dead detectives. He wakes up truly hoping that all of it was sleep-addled nonsense. Grabbing an orange from his bedside, he throws on a clean set of leathers and slams the door shut as he walks out.

The morning sunlight is just starting to bathe the old house for the new day, but few of the other children have awoken just yet. In the drawing room, Linda is working on a new landscape, a nightscape over the forest that Wammy was so often looking through.

“Nice.” he murmurs to Linda, because it’s true, but also because she’s a good set of eyes to have around.

“Thanks. Roger thinks it will fetch a good price. You’ll be meeting L this morning?” she’s cleaning off her brushes in short, quick movements.

“Yeah. Me and Near both,” he brushes it off, but can sense the measured respect that she gives him. Linda’s a realist, and a gossip. It’s often simple to get information out of her, “You might not want to sell that one, eh? Old man Wammy would probably like it.”

She purses her lips tightly, looking away for a moment. Mello can see her thinking through whether or not to tell him, thinking what she might gain or lose by it. It doesn’t matter. Her silence is all the confirmation he needs.

“You’re probably right.”

“Right.” He gives her a nod as he heads for Roger’s office, making a note to trust her information less in the future—or perhaps, that she is uncomfortable with death. To be expected. There’s a reason he’s second successor and she’s simply the local painter. Ambition, intelligence, grit. The latter especially, Mello tells himself, is what will push him over the line. He’s prepared to do things that Near simply will not. And isn’t that what being L is all about? Doing the unthinkable?

It’s with these thoughts that he is able to sit down next to Near on the couch in the office, giving him a contemptuous glance as the other waves the hand of a stuffed tiger at him with an enigmatic grin. Mello stays impassive as Roger cracks open the laptop and the familiar letter flashes up on screen.

“M, N. Apologies that it has been several months since our previous correspondence. I hope that you have been keeping up your studies. It’s more relevant than ever before. I regret to say this will be more than a simple exercise for a case that’s long since been solved. As of yesterday, Watari is—“ and here there is a slight static, a slight pause on the other line, “—no longer with us. I shouldn’t speak in euphemisms. Watari was killed by the SCARS virus. This may come as a shock, considering you would have received his message a day prior.”

Neither Mello nor Near register any kind of surprise—Mello simply gives a grim nod, and Near’s eyes widen, but he barely reacts.

“In any case, my focus remains the Kira case—but I have reason to believe the virus could be a biological weapon. Whether or not its release was intentional remains to be seen, or whether it was in its final form—“

“And what about the etiologic agent led you to believe that?” Near drawls, taking a loop of string out of his pocket. Mello twitches at the lips next to him, but doesn’t say anything.

“The scope and speed of infection… in addition the selective immunity seems highly unusual. From the symptoms and appearance it looks to be a combination of measles and mumps.”

“I simply don’t see how you something like that could come about, biologically speaking.” Near was ever the challenger to L, ever pushing him to explain his leaps of faith. Even if they often were correct.

“Which is exactly why I suspect foul play in this context.  A specific design to do a lot of damage—though my instincts say the release is premature. It might explain the variable latency period—highly difficult to detect.”

“I wouldn’t make any assumptions without more evidence.” Near sits back in his chair, falling back into the appearance of boredom.

“Where are the leads, L,” Mello buts in, eager to impress, “Should we start looking into government labs, military-funded projects?”

“One should _start_ by getting samples of the physical virus—“ Near interjects just as L starts to speak.

“Shut _up_ , Near, I can’t hear what he’s saying,”

“Well, it might be easier if you weren’t screaming yourself.” Near doesn’t even look up from his patterning as Mello jumps to his feet, ready to spit something angry in his face just as L’s voice cuts through them.

“M. N. Please. We’ve lost Watari on this case, so I need both of you more than ever. Preferably not at each other’s throats. N. If you wish to participate in the biological analysis that can be arranged. Watari was in contact with the Center for Disease Control in the United States that is already trying to coordinate bringing samples of the virus to a lab for sequencing. It’s proven challenging so far given the contagion risk, and as it’s becoming more difficult to get in contact with the American CDC.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if America was behind this,” Mello clenches his fists, as Near lets out a barely contained huff.

“I don’t want to jump too far ahead, but it could be.” the metallic filter of L’s voice betrays a slight worry. Near gives it a sharp eye, adding another data point to his hypothesis that as soon as adrenaline became involved, the likelihood of solving a case properly dropped significantly, “I will send an encrypted message with the locations of the labs I suspect could be involved in such a plot. With some groundwork we can narrow the cause, though we’ll be severely shorthanded with the loss of Watari.”

“I’m sorry, L.” Mello says darkly, “We’ll do whatever it takes to bring him justice.” Near almost rolls his eyes. It was just like Mello to take these petty emotional advantages when there much more important questions to be asked.

“Thank you. I have complete faith that you will handle this side of the case well. Do what needs to be done to get the evidence we need. I will continue to focus on the Kira case, as the murders have not slowed as far as I can tell. I look forward to hearing from you in a few days.”

The L flickers blank on the screen, and Mello exhales next to Near, a grin spreading over his face. He practically runs towards the door. Near lets the cords go limp under his fingertips. Not for the first time, he feels anger flare up at the power L holds over Mello.

He should say nothing. He’s never said anything before.

But as he shuffles down the halls of the Wammy House, he thinks to himself how empty the school would feel without Mello’s larger-than-life presence. Without his constant posturing, his challenges and his passion, there would be no reason to interact with any of the other children at Wammy’s. It would be less of a distraction from his puzzles, yes, but Near had to agree grudgingly with L that there Mello possessed a skill set he himself wasn’t even close to mastering.

And it would be a terrible waste to let Mello throw it away at L’s word.

So he stops at Mello’s closed door, pushes it open, doesn’t bother to knock. Mello is balling up his shirts and throwing them into a duffel bag one by one, raking his fingers through his blond hair.

“Mello.”

“Fuck off, Near,” he doesn’t say it with any of his usual vitriol, speaks with a smile on his lips “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I’m _finally_ getting out there, finally going to really show L what I can do.”

“You can’t go to Japan.”

Mello stares at him “Don’t be stupid, Near. It isn’t like you. L is making this case _my responsibility_ —“

“This isn’t a case. This is a global health issue, and you’re a detective.”

“I am a detective.” Mello repeats it softly, as if he’s never said it to himself.

Near doesn’t let him have much of a moment with the thought, “You’re not a doctor, you’re not a pathologist. There’s nothing you can do except wait for labs to provide us with the information—“

“That’s _your_ job, Near, I need to be the eyes on the ground. He asked _me_ , not you, so don’t think I’m going to let you—“

 “Mello, this is insanity. You’re practically signing your own death certificate by flying out there. Do you even know a single precaution about contagious viruses?” the logical words tumble out of Near’s mouth before he has a chance to realize that they might have the exact opposite effect.

“Oh god, give me a break, Near. You don’t get it, I won, you lost, now get out so I can do the job I was born to do.”

“You’re acting like a child. Wake up, Mello. This isn’t a game, nor is it even a puzzle. It’s survival.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to do what has to be done,” Mello smirks, “That’s why L chose _me._ ”

“He’s manipulating you.” Near spells it out, “He always has been, Mello.”

“Fuck. Off.”

“I honestly don’t see how you can be so nuanced at people’s intentions but be so blind when it comes to this.”

Mello zips the bag shut without looking at him, “Face it, Near. You might be a goddamn genius at test-taking and Rubik’s cubes, but you’ve got nothing out there in the real world. L knows that.”

The words cut deep into Near’s ribcage, though he keeps his face impassive, instead focusing on the even patterning of the string, over, under, cause, effect. It’s simple to see where this web _could_ take Mello, and none of the paths are good. Near knows none of his odds for survival, none of the likelihood estimates that he could be in the scant few that seem untouchable by the virus, for the moment.

“Believe it or not, Mello, L isn’t someone worth dying for.” Near speaks with the reputation of someone who has met L personally, though he’s never been sure of the detective’s identity.

“How would you know? You haven’t even met him. I have.”

Mello shoulders the bag and shoves Near on his way out, leaving Near to his surprise and the knot-work of his ruined Cat’s Cradle. Near hadn’t expected this, wouldn’t have expected Mello to keep quiet about meeting L. Unless he was lying, lying to himself. Near curls a finger around his hair, then resolves to do what he believes needs to be done.

In the shelter of the fort made of colored straws connected by star-like plastic, Near removes the personal laptop that is his most important possession. True to form, there is a message from the so-called greatest detective in the world.

_N_

_The following is the observations collected so far by the National Institute of Public Health. The CDC will be receiving samples of the virus within the next week. Compare the results cross-nationally. In the event that there are inconsistencies, laboratory space can be made available, although samples of the virus may be a challenge._

_It would be in your interest to cooperate with M on this particular case._

Not for the first time, Near rolls his eyes at the frustrating individual on the other side of the smoke screen. Still, as several hundred patient reports flood in to his home directory, there is an element of efficiency that Near respects, even if confidentiality is completely disrespected.

The most recent case from St. Luke’s International Hospital in Tokyo is a mother, widowed only three days before. She leaves behind two children. Near lingers on the path that brought him to Wammy’s only for a moment before he delves into the hard facts.

_The patient entered with a fever and difficulty breathing and was placed immediately in the acute care unit. Despite best practice the patient was made to share a room with another individual infected with the SCARS virus, see F-AC47892._

_Treatment:_

_400mg Ribovarin_

_No effect on the virus was shown from the treatment. Patient experienced discomfort in the stomach thought to be a side effect of the ribovarin. The patient entered the acute phase of the virus at 5:20am, 13 hours from admittance._

_The patient’s next-of kin remains under quarantine._

The case is dated a day and a half prior. The efficiency of L's data collection, at least, seems to have dipped in the absence of Watari.

The older cases from Hong Kong are yet more concerning. A veteran nurse, meticulous in her precaution against infection, showed symptoms just a day after Hong Kong believed the epidemic was under control. Among the next few files are her next-of-kin, all of whom are now dead.

Except for her husband. 

As he flips through the cases, Near begins to understand the name of the virus in more specifics. The Acute Respiratory Syndrome is immediately obvious—but the patterns of selective contagion less so. One researcher commented that the frequency of deaths in clusters with a few displaying immunity, suggesting a carrier role. Near is skeptical, given that such behavior is better attributed to bacteria or viruses that have much slower acute periods.

But still, until throat tissue samples are available for more concrete analysis, research into the survivors seems the most fruitful enterprise at the moment. Near pulls up an old SEIR model for an epidemic not unlike Ebola. A familiar model to start with, being the case that made him. He loads the data, and thinks over alternative models while it runs, winding yarn across a gridwork of wooden pegs set up next to his workspace.

There’s a soft knock on the door. “Come in.”

“Hey.”

“Don’t act like you’re not trailing after him like you always do, Matt.” Near doesn’t even look up from his patterning, still lost in thought about the nature and origins of the virus.

“Aw, N, don’t be like that. I don’t even get a goodbye?” Matt sidles into the fort, not staying at the door for once. Near gives him a hard look.

“Don’t go.”

He looks away, plays at the edge of his jeans, “Not an option.”

“Are you going to listen to reason? You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I know, Near, but it’s Mell. Been too long and we’ve always had each other’s backs. I can’t just…leave him.”

Near picks up another color of yarn, begins to thread the red against the blue in neat geometric lines. Matt could never tell what was going on in his head. “You’re leaving me, here.”

Matt has to swallow hard there. He and Near aren’t friends, not exactly. But they’re strange allies in the Cold War that’s defined the underbelly of Wammy’s House for years. It’s a quiet alliance, of shared looks and social favors that keep the arms race from escalating into a full-out conflict. Matt hadn’t realized Near even thought of him as a person, much less someone to leave behind, “Yeah, but that’s different. You’ll be okay.”

“Mello won’t be, and neither will you.”

Matt passes him the white yarn when he motions for it, “You don’t know that, Near.”

Near doesn’t say anything to that, just turns back to his laptop to touch a few keys. Matt doesn’t get up yet. He’s not ready yet. It’s safe here, safe with straws and string and construction-paper walls. For a full moment, he understand why Near needs this.

“Can you put me through to Watari’s correspondence with the CDC?”

Matt glances over his shoulder, “Yeah, I think I’ve got a minute. American Health encryption is shit anyways. I broke into it for a lark four years ago, thinking it’d be a challenge. You might even be able to do it.”

Near shrugs, “I know where my skills lie, Matt. But for that, I’ll need contacts.”

“I’ll try and update you on what happens with Mell.”

Near curls his finger around his hair, the way he does when he’s thinking, or trying to project like Mello. It almost makes Matt laugh. He’d made fun of him for it enough times.

"I could tell Roger, you know. He wouldn't let you go."

Matt does let out a snort of a laugh, "You think that'd stop Mell?  Near, if that's a threat it sure as hell is an empty one. Roger can barely keep me from smoking in the house much less keep Mell from his crazy-ass schemes."

“This isn't just--" Near stops as Matt raises an eyebrow, seems to think better of it,"If you're going, wear gloves everywhere, wear a face mask, wash your clothes hot every night, don't get close to anyone.”

Matt nods seriously, and Near mutters to himself, “Do all of this, and you still might die, like the nurses in Hong Kong.”

Matt wants to say something then, something to confirm or deny the fear rising in his throat that _this might be it_. He’s got nothing to say. He’s never had anything to say like that.

Mello's voice cuts through the plastered walls. "Matt, you packed? Where the hell are you?"

He freezes, glancing back at Near. "Just go," Near doesn't look up, "Try to keep Mello from getting himself killed."

Matt nods sharply, pulls out of the hallway to come face to face with Mello, “What the hell were you talking to him for?”

Matt shrugs, not sure if being ‘chosen’ by L is enough to put the longstanding war at stalemate, “He was just tryin’ to warn me off of how to beat the virus. You have face masks?”

“Of course we’re getting fucking face masks, you think I’m stupid?” Mello’s face twists a moment, fear lighting in his eyes.

“No, Mell, I don’t.” Matt stares down the angry confusion in his friends eyes. He’s long known how to talk Mello down, if it comes to that. But it doesn’t seem to today.

“I’m sorry, Matt,” Mello shoulders his bag, “But I need to know if you’re with me.”

“You know I am. Always.” Matt stares down the way Mello’s eyes trace over his face, searching for any hint of hesitation.

"We're on the next flight to Tokyo in five hours. You still remember how to ‘borrow’ a car, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s hit the road then.”

At the ironwrought gate of the Wammy’s house, Matt throws his backpack over the top and shimmies up the side of the fence, “So you used the Wammy accounts, huh.”

“Yeah, what of it?”

"Christ, Mell, Roger ain't gonna be pleased."

“After this, we aren't answering to Roger anymore.  It's you and me, and L. You with me, or what?”

“It's like I said. Always."

He’s with him for the hot-wiring of the car and the would-be-police chase that turns out to be Mello’s paranoia. Matt’s next to Mello as they flash through security on passports he forged himself, with some help from L’s tech. They catch the flight delayed till dusk, Mello collecting chocolate bars at Heathrow and snapping at them nervously, Matt itching for a smoke the entire time. He’s thankful when he drifts off to sleep next to Mello just as the English Channel slides out of view.

The flight reaches Tokyo in the black of the early morning. The twinkling map of the cityscape has more black patches than bright ones, at least near the edges. On the skyline is an airport which remains the brightest island, a distinct line of red and yellow along the highway carving out a path winding out of the heart of the city. It’s dead quiet there, even for two in the morning. The sight of a plane streaking through the sky gives pause to the girl leaving the hospital. 

It's such a strange sight that it's heading towards the city. Lately all she's seen out the window are those going the other way. Though Sayu isn't sure they'll let people out. Not anymore. She puts one foot in front of the other in a daze. It's a long walk out to the suburbs. She's had a lot of time to look over maps.

The streets of Tokyo are ghost-dark. Sayu walks, thinking about the bones of her mother's hand through the cotton of clinical gloves when she held it by her bedside. Listening to her breath get ever fainter.

_"Hold on, Sayu. I love you."_

She blinks, but no more tears come out. There's been too many. Now there's only the flicker of the streetlights reminding her of the purgatory of quarantine. There had been so many, so many like her. When the white-clad doctor asked for volunteers for experiments, and volunteers to leave under house arrest, Sayu knew she couldn't stay there a moment longer. The streets, quiet though they are, at least don't hang with the scent of death. Her house, empty and hollow, at least will provide some comfort. Sayu allows herself to hope for Light's calm, forces herself not to think about the alternative. She feels nothing. There are a few people hurrying in the direction of the hospital with terrified glances to the sky, either clutching their relatives by the hand or tearstained behind them, masks tight to their chalk-white faces.

She’s glad of the streets that are empty, with nothing and no one to remind her of where she is in time and space. The quiet stretches for a merciful half an hour. She thinks about the vigil by her mother's bedside, alone. Her capacity to feel anything seems to have shriveled up into a space she doesn't want to reach for.

The next turn is the kind of neighborhood that her mother would have never let her walk through, where the shopfronts are folded over with gates and bony men leer at street corners. There's an unpleasantly human smell on the air. Sayu brushes the hair out of her eyes and turns into the street without a second thought.

It's not as if there's anyone who can touch her now.

She's four blocks of silence in when there's a whistle from a corner, "Well, well, what's such a pretty thing doing out so late?"

She doesn't even glance at him, can't even muster up the energy for concern.

"Hey, bitch, I'm talking to you." Anger, raw and cathartic, breaks through the numbness Sayu feels.

"I'd prefer that you didn't."

"Well ain't that just too bad," he starts towards her. Her blood is roaring in her ears, begging for the release of violence. Sayu pulls off her mask from the hospital. She faces him, thinking over all the defensive techniques her father taught her, her mother watching from the kitchen as Light let her practice.

Then, Sayu was afraid of using them.

She feints for a punch the groin when he gets close, pulling her hand back as he flinches, then delivering a fist to his nose. He swings blindly, and _then_ she nails him with a kick that has him doubling over and screaming.

She should run. She doesn't move.

The stranger inside her speaks, "I hope you drop dead. If you touch me again, I'll make sure you catch the virus."

He widens his eyes, but there's rage in them rather than fear. Rage to match hers. He's not letting her go, he's struggling to his feet.

The eyes are the most vulnerable part and the most unexpected attack, Light's words float back to her as her instincts snap index finger into eye socket with a squelch. The man's scream is horrific, but Sayu is already running with everything she has, like her father told her to.

The dumpsters loom like sentinels in the alleyway. The adrenaline in starting to catch up to her breathing. The sound of the man's eye under her fingers rings in her ears, she collapses the her knees and vomits up the meager dinner she ate at the hospital.

Sayu wonders if she really did kill that man, and her throat closes for a moment as the events of the past week thunder over her. She curls herself into a ball behind the dumpster.

The world is strange, the world is dark, and she is very, very much alone. She tries to breathe, but nothing comes in. Is this how her mother felt? She gasps out, trying to scream without words.

There's a soft, gentle sound next to her.

It's a cat. Not a stray, it's eyes friendly and imploring. Someone who, like her, has lost a family. Sayu chokes on a breath in for a moment before kneeling upright and motioning the cat over.

In the half-light she can make out the soft marmalade color of his body. He places his whiskers to her hand. She blinks back the tears. They're cooling. Sayu closes her eyes, focuses on coming home. Home to Light, Light who ran from her father's grave and refused to see her mother to her death _._

Light who is her brother. Who has always acted as her protector, but has never been there. Maybe now it's time, maybe this time he will be. Sayu tries not to hope.

She scoops up the cat. It purrs in her arms, paws overtop of her shoulders. It reminds her of the stray her mother used to feed occasionally. 'Little Tramp', she used to call the grey tabby.

With the cat wrapped around her like a shield, Sayu steps out into the streetlights that aren't burnt out. She glances at the street corners, pictures the map, and carries the cat for the remainder of the walk home.

It's almost dawn when she hesitates for the doorknob of her house. Her mother's house. Her father's house. She draws in a shaky breath, begging for her brother's presence, to give her something to hold on to. The cat brushes up against her legs. She unlocks the door.

"Light?" she calls into the silence of the house. No reply. She takes the steps slowly. His door is closed. She tries the handle, and it opens, empty.

His bed is barely rumpled. There are very few clues that he has come and gone, but Sayu slowly pieces it together. In the drawers are missing clothes. The air has a lingering scent of apples. It's still unsettling in neatness. Then she notices a page on the desk, next to the crumpled mass of her note. She steadies herself to read it.

_Sayu,_

_Please call me if you get this note. I'm safe. It's for the case. I won't let you and Dad down. Take care of Mum. Stay safe._

_Light_

She staggers back into her room, rage boiling inside her instead of relief. Her hands shake as she picks up the phone, and it slips from her fingers to hit the floor. Tears spark at her eyes, _again_ , and she’s so tired.

"How could you leave?" she whispers. Light's note, Light's pen, Light's neatly written words say nothing back.

Sayu leaves the phone on her bedroom floor and cries until exhaustion drowns her.

She sleeps till the sun is high noon. When she wakes her body almost tricks her into believing it was all some distant nightmare. Her mind doesn't let her accept it. With her eyes still closed, Sayu forces herself to think of reasons to get up.

She will eat breakfast. That much she can muster the energy for.

The cat will need feeding.

She will call Light. The thought prods at a horrible, tangled mass of emotions at the bottom of her stomach. She will call Light. Eventually.

She will burn incense. Her mother is dead. Oddly enough, this is the most comforting thing she can imagine herself doing. Sachiko’s presence lingers in her thoughts, the perfume of the house, the cat who wanders into her room with a small _mew_.

_Hang on, Sayu._

_Stay safe._

In the bright daylight there are just as few people as the dark of the evening. She has a mask drawn over her face, gloves on her hands. She tries not to imagine the virus shedding contagion back on to her lips. She steers clear of people on the streets.

People avoid each other, cross to the other side of the sidewalks. Many of the shops are closed up and dark. There's a man, skittering between the buildings, short of breath. His business suit is clearly tattered. He looks unwell, frantic. When he sees her staring at him, he freezes. She steps in his direction, and he runs down the alleyway. She follows him, something in his gaze mirroring what she felt last night. The man believes he is alone. Sayu knows what it is to feel that way.

She keeps her distance, to be sure the contagion won’t be too close to him. He’s stopped running, and has his hand on the wall, breathing hard, "Sir? Are you all right?"

"Don't come any closer! I don't want to infect you!" the man screams, then cowers, backing into a corner. His voice seems distantly familiar to Sayu.

"It's all right. I don't think the virus can hurt me, either." even as she says it the irony of it tightens her throat with emotion. She steps towards him.

His eyes widen, and he scrambles off the dirt of the pavement to his feet. When he steps out of the shadows she recognizes his face.

"Matsuda-san?"

"Sayu Yagami?” he goggles at her for a moment, then seems to come to his senses, "I'm so glad to see you're alive.”

“I’m glad to see you as well.”

“Your mother -- is she?"

"She's gone." it seems that's all there is left to say.

"I'm sorry. She was a good woman." he twitches, and almost collapses at the knees, placing a hand on the brick wall to steady himself, "Oh, god. It's all gone to hell now.”

“Are you all right?”

“No. Well, fine, really. Little light-headed. Low blood sugar, I think. I don’t have any food left in my apartment and I didn’t want to run into anyone in case…well, I really don’t know how contagious this is, right?”

“Most people are wearing breathing masks at this point.” Sayu points out, “though it doesn’t seem to have done them a lot of good.”

"God, no kidding. I was trying to find one for myself" he shudders violently, "I'm sorry. I should have it together more than this. I just don't know how I can help." A flicker of compassion crackles through Sayu's numbness. Like her mother touching her softly on the shoulder.

"You can come back with me, Matsuda-san. I still have some food in my home, and I've found a little bit more for now. We can go out to try and find more afterwards."

"Really?"

"Of course. Anyone I can't hurt is someone I want to stay close to."

He gives her an attempt at a smile, "Me too, Sayu."

They walk in silence for a while, Sayu still looking for a place to buy cat food. Along the next road is a strip of darkened shop-windows. They pass a flower shop whose displays have begun to wilt, the colorful edges curling up to a deadened brown.

“Is…Light-kun with you?”

“No.” her voice is sharp, then a thought comes to her, “Don’t you know where he is? He said he was working on the Kira case.?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t come with us to the hospital… he was with Ry—he was with the head of the investigation.”

“Ryuzaki, right? I thought it was that…L who was heading up the Kira case.”

Matsuda’s eyes flicker to the ground and back, “Ryuzaki is a…collaborator of L’s.”

“Was it his idea to drag Light away from _his father’s_ funeral?” 

“I don’t know if I should say—“

“Was it?” Sayu has stopped walking at this point, is pointing the force of her glare at Matsuda.

“I can’t tell you about it. I don’t even know myself,”

“Fine.”

“Are you…have you spoken with Light?”

“No.”

“Oh. Can you? I didn’t think—”

“I’m not sure that I want to.”

“Oh.” They continue down the streets in silence for a while. Sayu wants to break it, but hasn’t figured out what she has to say just yet. The breath in her chest feels heavy. Then Matsuda starts to speak, “I want to think that the murders would stop when all this started…but they haven't. Kira is still murdering. Maybe he isn't even here. I don't know."

"Are you working with the others? From the police, I mean."

"Aizawa...was in the hospital with the virus, last I saw him."

“Is he…?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Matsuda brushes tears from his eyes, angry, “I haven’t seen Ide since we weren’t in the same quarantine. He hasn’t picked up his phone. Realistically, Ryuzaki and Light are all we’ve got in Japan against Kira.”

“Can _you_ contact Ryuzaki?” Sayu gives him a sharp glance.

“I guess, Sayu. I’m not sure if I want to either.” They both walk in silence.

“My father would have wanted him to work on the case….and I want that too. But he wasn’t there when my mother died. He _still_ isn’t here. And I’m trying to forgive him for that. Even, forgive my father for that.”

“I understand. Just don’t….wait too long.” Matsuda says without looking at her. Sayu bites her lip to keep from speaking. They round the corner to the pet shop Sayu remembers cooing over as a child. The windows are dark, but the door is slightly ajar.

“Hello?” Sayu pushes the door open with a jingle.

“Looks like they left in a hurry.”

“Yeah.”

“They might have tried to get out of the city…or in to the hospital.” Matsuda eyes the pile of tissues next to the counter. They both jump when the squawk of a bird breaks the silence.

“There are animals here. Can you get the lights?” Sayu starts towards the glint of the glass tanks.

Light floods the room. Several lizards skitter around their tanks, nervously retreating under plastic rocks and dirty ponds. Many of the fish float at the top of the aquarium like water lilies. The puppies in the kennel at the back of the room stand at attention, tails wagging, eyes hungry.

"Doesn't look like anyone's been here in days." Sayu walks over to the bird cages, her eyes on a particularly beautiful but forlorn parrot.

"Should we... should we feed them or?"

"I don't know. I think we should--" she opens up the cage door to the chirping budgies and stands back as they tentatively take flight. Matsuda yells briefly, hands over his head when they pass him to fly out the open door. Sayu almost laughs, and he smiles back at her.

“I don’t think anyone will feed them. So there best chance for them is to be free, I suppose,” she reaches for the other cages, “Do you think you have the energy to help me with this?”

He nods at her seriously. The two of them go through the pet shop as it begins to light up with the noise of the pets. Matsuda tears open plastic bags of food and they feed the pets before they guide them out the door. The dogs are bright-eyed and linger behind them, the kittens, aloof and tearing after the gerbils that haven’t made it far enough into the streets. The lizards are slow and careful down the street. It’s a strange parade, but it brings a smile to Sayu’s lips.

“They’ll be all right.” Matsuda says, almost to himself.

“You don’t know that.” Sayu replies softly, “Most of them will probably die. But more will survive this way.” She shoulders a large bag of cat feed, “Come on. It’s not a far walk back home.”

“Do you want me to carry that?”

“I can manage.”

The lightness of the bird’s freedom is still in her chest, but she’s thinking over practicalities of survival. And not just for herself.  “We need a way to separate those who haven’t been infected from…people like us.”

“I know. It’s all I’ve been thinking ab—“ Matsuda stop suddenly in front of the shop next door. It’s a bakery, but a large, heavy television set has been hurled through the window. Sayu looks at Matsuda, and they both agree wordlessly to enter the bakery. The front display has been looted, breadcrumbs scattered amidst the broken glass. As a strange contrast, the scent of freshly baked bread hangs over the air. Matsuda breathes it in with a kind of shake at the knees.

“Is anyone here?”

 “Should we call the police?” Sayu tries to avoid the shattered glass on the floor.

“There’s really no point, now.” a female voice floats in from the door in the back. Sayu and Matsuda jumps several steps back. No one presents themselves.

“Are you all right?” Matsuda calls back, “Was it a break-in?”

There’s a sound of movement in the back, “No, stay where you are!” Matsuda yells, “We don’t want to make you sick.”

“That’s kind of you.” the voice floats over top, “It was a break-in. Just some desperate, angry kids, I think.”

“My name is Matsuda, I’m a police detective. If you let me know what happened, I can try to find out who did this—“

“No, I don’t blame them. Yesterday this entire street was gridlocked with cars, people trying to get out of the city. And what can I do? I’ll tape it up if I need to. But I have a feeling there won’t be much need for a bakery. Not with half the people gone or dead,” there is a gasp that sounds somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but her voice stays steady, “My name is Izumi Mori. I’m glad you’re both here. Even if I can’t see you.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mori-San. My name is Sayu Yagami.”

”Matsuda-san, Yagami-San. Are you in need of food? I’m just about to take a dozen loaves out of the oven.”

Matsuda’s mouth drops, “Yes. Yes?” he looks at Sayu, questioning.

“Just one loaf would be very kind, if you can spare it,”

“If you’re in need, absolutely.” she reminds Sayu of her mother, but in a comforting way. In a way that makes her smile at the memory.

“I’m going to bake until my supplies run out. It would be criminal to waste this. And if anyone needs anything, tell them to come here. I’ll do what I can.”

“Aren’t you worried about catching the virus?

“Of _course_ I am.” Izumi’s voice almost breaks, “But I know what I can do. I’m not a doctor, I’m a baker. And people need bread.”

“We’ll find a way to make sure people know. Know who to stay away from, and who is safe. If we can just organize ourselves, somehow—“

“How, Sayu?” Matsuda asks her.

Sayu’s eyes catch two large markers lying on the counter next to brown paper bags for orders, “The masks. We’ll mark the masks.” she picks up a bright red permanent marker, and scrawls red across her breathing masks, “Red for infected, or could be. Blue for clean. If they’re still here.”

Matsuda takes the marker to his mask, thinking it over, “We’ll tell everyone we meet—maybe we can quarantine ourselves. So that no one gets hurt. At least until someone can tell us it’s safe.  That’s a crazy idea. But I…it could work. It might even help.”

“We’ll be fighting the virus blind,” Izumi’s voice floats over them, “But it’s a start. Then people at least will have each other. All right. If you meet anyone, tell those who are still clean to come to the back. Those who aren’t can come to the front. I’ll keep baking as long as I can, and I’ll share whatever I can. We only need to keep going until the virus dies out. A month, at most.” there’s a watery conviction in the last word. Izumi Mori is afraid, Sayu knows.

“We’ll tell them.” Sayu tries to put more conviction in her voice. It almost comforts her, “We’ll make sure no one goes hungry. We’ll try.”

“Thank you,” there are tears in the voice behind the door, “Thank you both.”

The baker unlocks the kitchen door, opens it just wide enough, and slides a loaf of bread out onto the tile. Sayu catches her dark eyes and flyaway hair, and they share a smile, just for a fraction of a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was quite the journey for my lovely Sayu. She's been through so much, and it's interesting to see how people react to that. I've taken a very specific direction with her, as I feel both her parents influence would allow her to step up in a context like this. 
> 
> I promise the cat will get a name :) Just not yet. 
> 
> I had fun working in some of the Wammy's dynamics, Near sassing L was a lot of fun. More to come re: Watari's death, sorry if it felt a little distant here? It IS distant to them though. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, anyone, everyone! I'm so excited about all the positive feedback that this fic has been getting so far :) I'll probably keep at a two week update schedule (chapters tend to be long and dense to even attempt to do properly). Chat with me about how you felt in the comments, I always love to hear from readers <3 Open to con-crit as well, if people feel the need.


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